


Things aren't always as they seem

by Minniebinnie



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fridget
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:21:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniebinnie/pseuds/Minniebinnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place about six months after the start of Season 4. Franky is completing some work as a legal assistant in Wentworth as part of her role at Legal Relief. Please note that I have tagged the warning "Rape/Non Con". I am hoping to write a few chapters for this story!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pop Quiz

As Franky signed in and was escorted to the room off to the library, she shook her head as the smell of Wentworth again infiltrated her nostrils. She remembered it so well. She sometimes still smelt it on Bridget’s clothes if she arrived home before Bridget as Bridget generally changed as soon as she got home. 

It was Vera who had first suggested that Franky come in once a week and chat to the inmates about their prospects of appeal. Whilst Bridget was initially nervous about the prospect of Franky returning to Wentworth in such a capacity, with Bridget’s help Franky was able to put forward a proposal to her supervisor at Legal Relief and it was accepted. As a paralegal, Franky wasn’t able to give any formal advice, but she undertook research and pointed the inmates in the right direction if she considered that their case had any points of appeal and whether they were worth pursuing.

Ordinarily, Vera sent her an email the night before with her appointment slots. But for some reason she hadn’t. Whilst having breakfast in her tiny flat (where she really only stayed a few nights a week to satisfy the parole board as to her residency), she checked her phone again and there was no email. “Strange”, she thought. It had been close to a year since she had been released from Wentworth and about three months since starting up the programme with Vera and this was the first time she hadn’t sent an email.

She arrived at the small room and started to set up her things. It was just after 8.30 and her first appointment was at 9.00. Just as she was about to ask to be escorted to the tea rooms (Vera insisted she was escorted everywhere), Vera arrived at the door. She looked uncomfortable and a little nervous. 

“Mornin’ Vera” Franky grinned as she looked up at the Governor. 

“Good morning Franky”, Vera cleared her throat, more out of nervousness than necessity. 

“Look Franky.. I know that you aren’t going to be happy.. I tried to stop it happening but the reality is I couldn’t, we couldn’t. Every time we try something, she threatens discrimination, prejudice… she just knows the system all too well”.

Still smiling Franky looked up at Vera “Calm ya farm Vera.. What is it, no sweat I’ll deal with it”. 

Vera still looked uncomfortable as she handed the print out of the schedule to Franky. Franky scanned the list and started to say “You haven’t booked Kim bloody Chang in again to se….” and she stopped as she came to the second to last appointment for the day. 

It read “2.30 - Ferguson, Joan”.

“Uh Uh…. No fuckin’ way” she said to Vera. 

Vera’s eyes pleaded with her. “I’m sorry Franky…. There is nothing I can do about it.”

“I’m not seeing that fuckin’ bitch. She is mental. Plus she is paying squillons for the best fuckin’ legal counsel in Victoria. There’s no fuckin’ way she wants to see me”.

“I know” Vera stammered. As she put her hand on Franky’s desk and lowered her voice “I know… and I agree with you”. Franky looked at Vera. Vera looked weary, tired, like the job was weighing her down.

After an initial rocky start, Frank had actually warmed to Vera and her somewhat awkward ways. It turned out that her and Bridget were quite good friends and she knew that Bridget needed allies in this place, so she did what she could - and there were worse people that her and Bridget could hang out with.

“Just go through the motions with her… Start the appointment ten minutes late and I’ll make sure one of the guards brings your 3.00 appointment right on time.”

Franky shook her head at Vera. She knew they were both hamstrung. She glanced down at her schedule There was no 3.00 o’clock appointment, Ferguson’s was the last of the day. Knowing what was going through her mind Vera quickly interjected “Ill make sure there is someone, I'll get one of the women. I’m sure they would love to see you anyway”.

“If she tries to engage with you about anything else… just ignore her” Vera suggested. “Or end the appointment” she added. I will make sure there is a guard outside the door at all times.

Franky immediately wanted to see Bridget. It was a weird feeling for her knowing Bridget was in the building, but that she would not have any contact with her. Both she and Bridget had agreed, it was too risky and neither wanted to put Vera in a more awkward position than the already was.

“Alright… fine” Franky said to Vera as she breathed out slowly, cheeks puffing lightly as the air passed over her lower lip. “Thankyou”, Vera said and headed out leaving Franky to finish getting ready.

Just as she was again contemplating a cup of tea, Mr Jackson emerged into the room carrying one of those awful polystyrene cups with a tea bag still in there. Franky hated drinking out of them and she felt like she was killing the environment even more with each sip that she took from the cup - but that was what was on offer so she took it.

Mr Jackson looked at Franky and said “Just keep your cool, me or one of the guards will be here. She has been wreaking havoc in the general population and lots of the women have had enough of her so we are really just trying to manage her until her trial”.

She breathed out again. She thought of all the things Bridget had taught her to keep her cool. She looked up “Thanks Mr J…. just not the person I want to spend any part of my life talking to. “You and me both” Mr Jackson responded.

Franky saw her morning appointments, no one that she recognized. They must have all been fresh meat into Wentworth. Her lunch was delivered from the kitchen – which she didn’t eat. She knew too much of what went on in that kitchen. She usually stopped into Lucia’s on the way home after her sessions at Wentworth each Monday and picked up a snack along with stuff for dinner that she prepared whilst Bridget stayed back and reviewed any inmate incidents that occurred over the weekend; so she would wait until then to eat.

As she looked at the clock, her 2.00pm arrived. She went through various appeal points with a young girl called Allie. She was quite cute thought Franky, but gone were the days when she would have flirted, even just for fun. She was just not interested. Franky suggested that Allie make another appointment in a few weeks’ time and in the meantime she would do some research and also made a mental note to ask Bridget about this Allie girl.

As had been planned, the guard escorting Allie back to the cell block (who was the same one who would be bringing Joan Ferguson to Franky) arrived late. It was therefore not until close to 2.40pm that Ferguson appeared in the doorway.

Franky was taken aback to see her in the teal issue tracksuit. Hair, whispy and tied back in a pony tail. She seemed less threatening, less severe and Franky immediately relaxed a little. “Hello Franky”, Joan purred in that unmistakable voice. The voice of a psychopath, Franky thought. “Hello Joan”, Franky said flatly, disguising well the adrenalin that was coursing through her body. “So how is life on the ouT siDE”, she asked Franky, emphasizing the T and the DE .

“Yeah real good” Franky responded. 

“I always knew you would do well, I always believed in you Franky Doyle”, Ferguson replied.

Franky knew better than to get sucked in my Ferguson’s calm demeanor and complimentary comments, but she played along. Making small talk for a few minutes.

“Alright then, we better get to it as we are already late” Franky suggested.

“Oh yes,” Ferguson responded with a smile on her face.

She sat looking at Franky. Franky stared back at her.

“So…” Franky responded. “What do you need guidance with. I can’t imagine that I’m going to be much use to you when you’ve got the top Barrister in Victoria working on ya case”

“Ohh” said Ferguson flatly. “I just wanted to talk generally with you about sentencing”. 

“Right”, said Franky. “But you haven’t even had your trial or been convicted” she responded, puzzled by Ferguson’s request.

“No .... I was thinking more along the lines of a pop quiz…. What’s the maximum sentencing for assault in Victoria?” and her eyes stared into Franky’s.

Franky wasn’t playing this game. “Look Joan, I am here to provide general assistance to prisoners, not here to go through the ins and outs of various sentences with you”.

“Alright then” Joan responded. “What about possession and sale of a controlled substance? you should know that one”.

Franky began to get irate. She was about to end the meeting when Joan leaned forward ever so slightly, but not enough to get the guards attention and said “What about rape?” Franky looked at her puzzled, she hadn’t raped anyone. She had assumed all of the questions had related to her.

Joan spoke deliberately as she squared Franky in the eye and said slowly “What about ….. the persistent sexual exploitation of a child, you know …. the formal legal jargon they use for child sexual abuse?”. 

“What the fuck??” Franky responded

“Ms Westfall might know… I wonder what the sentencing there was … you know.. for her abuser….or whether he was ever even convicted at all or what he was charged with”.

Franky felt her blood boil at the mention of Bridget’s name so much so that it took a while for her brain to register what Joan had said. Joan knew it too as she sat there with a smirk on her face.

“Ohhh…. She hasn’t told you about that… oops”, as her smirk grew bigger. 

“Hmmmm, yes….abused as a child if I recall correctly” Joan continued.

As Franky tried to process what Ferguson had said, she was in disbelief. Disbelief that this could have happened to Bridget, disbelief that she didn’t know. Mustering all of her self control, she breathed slowly in through her nose. “It could be the Freak just fucking with me”, she thought. But something in the way Ferguson had told her made her think otherwise.

She felt like she had been hit like a freight train as she tried to name the feeling that she was experiencing in an effort to gain composure. Another one of Bridget’s tools she had taught her – name, acknowledge and accept. 

The Franky of the past would most likely have burst into a ball of rage. But she was stricken, almost paralysed as the words replayed again in her head “…for her abuser….”.

Franky didn’t respond. Instead she bit the inside of her lip, scared at what would come out of her mouth if she opened it. She breathed and stood up, ignoring Ferguson, talking over the top of her to the guard at the doorway - “We’re done” she said. The guard turned around and Franky didn’t recognize the face who appeared in the doorway “Ferguson …. Back to your unit”. 

Joan stood up slowly, gazing at Franky. Franky refused to look at her.

“Why thank you Francesca. That was a most informative chat” she said in a half whisper.

Franky still refused to give her eye contact. Instead, looking down until she was sure that Joan had left. 

Franky stood there, she looked down at her hands, they were shaking. Her entire being was shaking inside. She could not believe and did not want to believe what Ferguson had told her. She immediately felt the need to see Bridget, but she knew their agreement. Plus, she remembered that Bridget had mentioned she would be working in the protection unit for most of the day, filling in for the external psychologist who was on leave.

She then looked up to see Vera enter the room, who entered hurriedly. 

“This place is fucked” Franky spat out as she began throwing things into her bag. Vera wasn’t sure what had been said but had been watching on the surveillance camera and saw that the session had ended early. “What did she say Franky…was she talking about you?” Vera inquired, trying to sound compassionate.

Franky felt like she couldn’t breathe. As if a vice was squeezing all the air from her lungs. Franky shook her head, deliberately looking down, not wanting to give away to Vera how she was feeling. She immediately stopped and breathed. Tried to bring herself back to the moment like Bridget had taught her. Compose. Breathe. Compose. Breathe.

“Was it about you?” Vera questioned again. 

“No” was all Franky could muster in response. 

“Well if she has made a confession or statement of any sort to you, you know as a paralegal assistant you are not bound by legal professional privilege..” Vera trailed off but Franky wasn’t listening.

“Are you escorting me out?” Franky said matter of factly as she lifted her head and she looked at Vera. Vera was taken aback by Franky’s face. She was pale, shaken and Vera was sure that Franky’s eyes were glassy.

“Well I can” Vera responded. “But I think one of the women was coming to see you to be your three o clock…”.

“I want to leave” Franky barely got out in a whisper.

“Ok, ok, Ill take you out” Vera responded. “Listen Franky, if she has said anything inappropriate to you, you can tell me”. 

“Sss..ok” Franky stammered, not wanting to tell Vera about what Ferguson had said to her. What if it wasn’t true?? But what if it was? How the fuck would Ferguson know that. Franky’s mind raced as she walked through the corridor with Vera towards the visitor’s exit. 

Vera stopped and turned to Franky, not wanting to push anything and said “Look… if you need to debrief with Bridget, you can. Technically it should be done within the premises or with me but as you don’t seem….. comfortable…” Vera appeared to search for a word but also to try to get to the bottom of Franky’s reaction ….“I’m happy for you to do so as the subject matter relates to Wentworth and isn’t a breach of confidentiality”.

Franky pursed her lips. Vera had no idea of the irony of her statement “Yep”, Franky quipped quickly, just wanting to extricate herself from the prison before she imploded – with anger or with sadness or with what, she did not know, but she felt like she was suffocating.

“We do really appreciate you coming Franky, the women do…” Vera added.

“Yeah” Franky said, and stopped herself and paused, not wanting to say anything else.

As Vera’s swipe card card turned the door mechanism from red to green, Franky couldn’t get out fast enough. “See ya Vera” Franky said as she hurried out the door. 

“Goodbye Franky” responded Vera, as she stood, genuinely worried at Franky’s demeanor. As she watched Franky run to the car, she considered telling Bridget about what had happened. She knew what a formidable force Ferguson was and had herself been on the receiving end many a time. 

As Franky ran across the carpark, she got her keys ready and shoved them into the ignition. She couldn’t leave fast enough. “Fuck this place” she muttered as she waited for the heavy sliding gate to open to enable her to exit. 

As she drove off, she glanced down at the clock. Just after 3.00pm. She was finishing an hour before she usually did. She couldn’t think. What if what the Freak had said was right. Had Bridget been raped or abused as a child… She felt sick at the thought. Memories came flooding back to her of the time when she had been forced by Lucy fucking Gambaro and she had felt nauseas for days. But she was an adult then. 

“Fuck” she said out loud and surprised herself as she heard her voice break. Then the tears started. She felt the stinging prickle behind her eyes as she used the sleeve of her knit to wipe the side of her face, with the other hand held the steering wheel. “Poor Gidget…” she thought. 

She then felt a pang of guilt. Since leaving Wentworth, she had come to know a lot about Bridget – they had a lot of catching up to do, Bridget having had a head start knowing more about Franky’s life than all of her previous partners put together. Nothing like this had ever come up… Had Franky not asked the right questions…. Had Bridget felt like she couldn’t tell Franky for fear of burdening her with something so significant.

As Franky sniffed, she considered how she could raise this with her. It was Bridget that usually started all of the difficult conversations in their relationship. Franky had improved markedly, but she still skirted around on occasion. “I’m no good at this shit” she said aloud.

But then a wave came over her. Whether it was by way of anger at the Freak for telling her – obviously trying to undermine her relationship with Bridget or maybe it was her deep love for Bridget, which to date she had not explicitly voiced or maybe it was the absolute rock Bridget had been and continued to be for her. She had offered and provided her unwavering support both during her time in Wentworth and since leaving. 

Every single fucking time Franky needed her (and even when she didn’t know she needed her), Bridget was there. Time after time offering measured advice, just listening to her. Not as her psychologist but as her partner, her lover, her friend, her person.

Franky suddenly found a strength within and resolved that she owed it to Bridget to bring it up, she almost felt an obligation as her partner to do so.

Her mind drifted as she drove and before she knew it, she was waiting at a set of lights before Lucia’s. Bridget and her often came for a coffee on Sunday mornings and it was her go-to shop for her Monday night cook up. She parked and paused and she sat, double checking a recipe on her phone before she went in.

As she did so, a message flashed up, it was from Bridget. After she took a screen shot of the recipe, she flicked into her messages to read it 

“Hi Darling. Are you ok? Vera came to see me and she said your afternoon didn’t go well AND that Joan insisted on seeing you and that you were quite rattled. I’ve got a four o’clock but call me if you can before– on this mobile, not the work one G x x”.

Franky paused, initially intending to get out of the car. She would message Bridget later. But then she thought otherwise. It was obvious that Bridget was worried about her. 

She hit “Gidget” in her contacts and Bridget answered immediately with “I’ll just shut the door”. Franky waited until she heard Bridget “Baby, are you ok?? Vera is really worried about you and now so am I” she whispered.

“Yeah I’ m ok, just rattled by that fucking Freak of a woman”, Franky tried to sound convincing but she knew she had failed.

“I don’t believe you” Bridget challenged

“Gidge..” Franky started “Yeah, she … its just…. Look, she said some fucked up shit to me…” as she trailed off.

“Relating to…. “ Bridget queried as her voice then trailed off. She could tell that Bridget was trying to keep things formal and stay cool.

“Look Gidge… lets talk about it tonight hey. I’m just about to head into Lucia’s and grab some stuff to whip us up a gourmet delight.. how about that ay??” Franky tried to lighten the mood but again, Bridget saw straight through her.

“I know what you are doing Franky Doyle, trying to deflect”, Bridget responded in a deeper tone. But she knew better than to push Franky and just accepted that it was something they would discuss that night.

“Gotta go Gidge and get this stuff”, Franky responded. She couldn’t get off the phone faster, afraid her voice would betray her, as it always did when she spoke to Bridget. She was no tough top dog anymore, but she liked it better that way.

After she hung she immediately messaged Bridget - “What time will you be home? X”.

Her phone beeped immediately in response “6.30 probably, not much to review today xG” 

Franky responded “Good, just come home as soon as you can and we can talk then x”.

Bridget knew something significant must have happened, rarely did Franky initiate any discussions. It continued to play on her mind.

After Bridget’s 4.00, she commenced her weekly review of the weekend incidents. She heard someone clear their throat and looked up to see Vera in her doorway. 

“How late are you staying tonight Bridget..?” Vera asked.

Bridget glanced at the clock, “Well its nearly five, probably another hour or so. Why Vera, do you need to discuss anything?”.

“No, not me. Its just that…”, and Vera paused concerned about overstepping the mark…..“I just really think you should get home and try and see to Doyle”. 

“I’ve got it all sorted Vera, we always spend Monday nights together – she cooks up a storm and we unpack the day, she is probably already at my house creating some culinary specialty as we speak” said Bridget as she flashed a smile.

“Why don’t you just leave now.. finish up your work tomorrow” Vera suggested, looking a little too serious for Bridget’s liking.

“Oookaaayy” Bridget responded slowly and a bit perplexed. Clearly something big had gone down today. 

“So you don’t know what happened between her and Ferugson?” Bridget questioned.

“No Bridget, I told you all that I knew before” Vera responded.

“What the fuck were we thinking letting her see Franky, I mean come on..” Bridget said

“I know, I know” Vera responded a little defensive. “But we have to treat her….”  
And Bridget cut in “I know …. Like any of the other prisoners”.

“Well you’ve convinced me” Bridget added as she started to pack up her things.

“Good, keep me posted”, Vera responded “I hope Franky is ok” she added.

As Bridget walked out to her car, she felt somewhat uneasy about what she may find at home. What state she would find Franky in. What things would they need to work through together – which Bridget never begrudged. 

What could have happened between Franky and that vile woman….Bridget thought…. 

“She truly is a cunt” Bridget said out loud as she reversed out of her park and towards the exit.


	2. The Pink Gumboots

Despite her strong resolve to speak to Bridget about what Ferguson had told her, self doubt permeated Franky all afternoon like an oppressive cloud cover. Whilst at Lucia’s, she had abandoned her plans to cook risotto and instead opted for a range of antipasto and dips – which had become a favourite past time of Franky and Bridget’s – grazing and talking.

Franky struggled in her mind with how to raise Ferguson’s comment with Bridget, her toe tapping nervously on the ground as she waited the coffee machine to warm up as ideas and scenarios played out in Franky’s head. Would she wait until after dinner, or should she do it before. Knowing Bridget, she would want to address it the minute she walked in the door. Franky contemplated all of the long discussions they had had after nightfall, lying in bed together – Franky often finding it easy to talk into the dark, or with her back to Bridget’s front as Bridget spooned Franky from behind. Always knowing when to probe a little further, hug a little tighter, or just say nothing and to wait for Franky to continue to talk into the darkness. There was a time when she thought talking achieved jack-shit. “How things have changed”, Franky thought.

As Bridget arrived home, she paused and sat in her car. Just enough time to gather her thoughts; but not long enough for Franky to wonder what she was doing.

As Franky heard Bridget’s car her stomach did a little flip. Never, she thought, had she cared so much about a conversation with someone. Never, she thought had she had any form of relationship with anyone like the one she shared with Bridget. Never, she thought had she loved someone so unreservedly as Bridget.

As Bridget walked in, she saw Franky had laid out dinner on the table. She was wiping down the bench. There was a bottle of red wine, open on the counter allowing it to breathe. It all seemed eerily calm Bridget thought; this was not the sort of Franky that she was anticipating coming home to. She had expected having to talk Franky down, or at the very least, talk her through what had happened and quite possibly go into damage control.

As Franky spun around, Bridget noticed that she looked a little nervous, but not what she was expecting.

Bridget asked Franky “So are you going to fill me in on what happened today… Between Vera’s story and your sketchy explanation I really don’t know what to think”…. "Did you lose your cool with her Franky?” Bridget asked. 

Bridget continued, without giving Franky an opportunity to respond as she kicked off her shoes and put her laptop down on the table next to the plate of food. “I don’t know what Vera was bloody thinking in letting the two of you meet. They give that woman too much power. She is an inmate, but Vera and Channing just jump to her every request”. Bridget poured herself a glass of red wine and grabbed a dolmade from the antipasto plate and bit into it.

“Look Gidge, how about we talk about it over dinner. I’ve made up this antipasto plate”, gesturing towards the table where Bridget was standing. “We can sit and eat and talk. I wanna hear about your day too”, Franky suggested. 

Bridget was becoming impatient, despite trying not to show it. She also didn’t like not knowing what was going on “Look Franky, just tell me” Bridget said “What ever you did or said I’m sure that we can work through it” as she took a large sip of wine and held it in her mouth, waiting for Franky’s response.

An uncomfortable silence hung between them. 

Bridget swallowed and interjected “Fine Franky, if you don’t want to talk about it - that’s ok”, Bridget said with wine glass in one hand and an open hand gesturing at Franky.

“……But I came home early, specifically to talk to you. Vera got me worried, as did your text asking when I was going to be home. But now it seems like you don’t want to talk about what happened”. 

This was not how Franky was planning on talking to Bridget about it… but she felt she had little choice.

“So…. Gidge.. Look you know I’m not good at this shit”. An impatient Bridget exhaled as she tilted her head back before responding “Franky…. Whatever it is about you, you can tell me. You should know that by now… we’ve been through a lot of shit together”. “Yes… my shit”, Franky thought silently.

“Look the thing is… Gidget…” as Franky looked at Bridget, she shifted on her feet and put her hand on top of Bridget’s, which was leaning on the table.

“It’s not about me, it’ s about you”. Franky had said it, her heart was hammering, her throat threatening to swallow any further words she tried to speak. As she lifted her hand off the table, she took Bridget's with her and held it. She felt better maintaining some form of physical contact with Bridget.

Confused, Bridget gave Franky a blank look “Sorry.. about me?? What is it about me?”.

“Is it to do with the psych board…. Was it another threat about our relationship? I’m starting to think she has people working on the outside for her.” Bridget pressed, looking urgently at Franky.

Franky wished she didn’t have to ask Bridget was she was about to ask. Wished she had never had to speak to Ferguson. Wished she had never seen the smug look on Ferguson’s face today. This was not the way Franky had planned on asking her, but as everything in Franky’s life seemed to pan out – nothing was as she planned it.

“No”, Franky answered simply. As Franky took a breath in, she then exhaled shakily and said a lot softer than she intended “Gidget, were you raped?”.

Bridget didn’t move, she couldn’t. She felt frozen in time. She then tilted her head and pursed her lips as a feeling of disbelief crept over her. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. Bridget went to speak, but there was no sound. Instead an almost silent “yes” came out as a whisper from her mouth as she looked at Franky.

Franky looked stunned. She had wanted to believe that Ferguson was just fucking with her mind, but deep down, she had an awful gnawing feeling in her stomach that there was truth to what she had said.

Franky bit her bottom lip. Not only at the truth that had escaped from Bridget’s lips but the look of utter devastation and defeat that she now saw on Bridget’s face. She and Bridget had talked through a lot – mostly about Franky but also about Bridget – how she thought Franky had died in the fire at Wentworth, how she felt when she had to tell Franky to move out, the number of arguments that had taken place between them, when Bridget had later confessed to her she thought that Franky wanted to end things. But she had never. Ever. Seen this look on Bridget’s face.

“Fuck Gidget” Franky responded. Dumb struck, she did not know what else to say. 

Bridget glanced down, as she recalled the three questions that Ferguson had asked her that day and they replayed in her head.. “What was your favourite childhood game…. Is there anything you never told your parents .. Have you ever been raped”.

It had been those questions Ferguson had asked her, that she had refused to answer, which had caught Bridget off guard. Bridget still smarted at the audacity this woman had and she replayed the scene in her head …”quid pro quo…”. Who did she think she was??…. Again, Bridget started to think… this woman has way too much power.

Franky took Bridget’s other hand in front of her and held them, looking into her eyes. Now she saw a coldness, a distance, a disassociation in stark contrast to Bridget’s usually open, connected and engaging eyes.

“Oh Gidge, I am so so sorry”.

“Was this what Ferguson said to you today”?. Bridget asked, her voice starting to break.

Franky swallowed and said a simple “yes”. “But I didn’t react” she added, worried that Bridget may have been concerned that she had given Ferguson the conformation she sought about their relationship. But as Franky went to explain more, she glanced at Bridget and saw she was a million miles away. Still holding Bridget’s hands, she sat them both down on the couch.

Franky didn’t know what to say. Whether to ask Bridget what had happened, when it happened, how it happened. Questions whirred around in her head, but she wanted to give Bridget some time. After all, Franky had been processing this since the minute she had ended her session with Ferguson, whereas, for Bridget, Franky’s question had caught her completely off guard.

Bridget had expected to come home to Franky in a mess, not to a question which, despite the considerable therapy she undertaken over the years, had the potential to reopen a whole chapter in her life that had spent much of her life trying to escape. A chapter that had changed her life forever.

She knew, however, that it was important to tell Franky. Important for Franky, given the significant number of events Franky had discussed with her about her childhood and life. Important for Bridget, given Franky was the person whom she now trusted most in her life and whom she loved wholeheartedly. It was also important for their relationship. She knew from both professional and personal level it was important to share this with Franky.

Franky broke the silence “If you don’t want to talk about it Gidge, I completely understand”. 

Bridget rubbed her forehead between her thumb and forefingers. “No no, its ok,, I can talk about it”. 

Franky panicked, not wanting to force any discussion “Yeah Gidge, but only if you want to, just 'coz you say you can talk about it, doesn’t mean that you need to”. Franky surprised herself in how she sounded, a lot smoother and in control than she felt. There was no humor, no sarcasm, no avoidance, no deflection. It was just straight talking. Twelve months ago, thought Franky, there was no way that she could have had this conversation.

“What did she say to you Franky??… Ferguson...” Bridget asked her voice already sounding drained as she shut her eyes momentarily.

As Franky recounted the session with Ferguson, she could see Bridget shifting and uncomfortable. No doubt over the fact that the Freak, one of the most complex psychopaths that Bridget had ever come across, knew such intimate details about Bridget. 

How ironic Bridget thought, the one occasion where Vera and Bridget had attempted to set her up by filming the questioning, Ferguson had revealed to both of them an intimate secret about each of their damaged histories – neither of which Bridget or Vera had even spoken to the other about since.

Bridget wasn’t surprised that she had tried to use this against Franky, possibly in an attempt to make her snap, to see her reaction to Ferguson speaking of her partner or maybe it was simply just another sick and twisted attempt to exert power and control over someone over whom she now had no power – Franky.

She should have known better to think that Ferguson had abandoned this line of attack. After questioning Bridget, Ferguson again brought it up when Bridget was tasked with the unenviable job of attempting therapy with her after her attack by Lucy Gambaro and her crew, during which time Ferguson had used every opportunity to remind Bridget about what she knew. 

“It started a few weeks before my sixth birthday….” Bridget started. Franky not quite ready, stopped in her tracks and turned to give Bridget her full attention.

“My aunt, who I adored and worshipped, had a partner – Dave. They lived on a property in Bowral about an hour and a half out of Sydney where I grew up. My mum and her sister were two very different people and for me, my aunt Carrie was that escape from the somewhat regimented life I lived with my parents. She was a bit bohemian, a bit out there, nothing phased her and I would love to go and stay at her place – weekends, school holidays or sometimes just for the day”. 

Bridget got up to get the bottle of wine and her glass and bring it back to the coffee table where she was sitting with Franky and she continued. “I would be outside literally all day, the minute the sun was up until it was dark. I was an outdoors kid and loved feeding the horses, finding eggs the chickens had laid and playing chasey with the two farm dogs”. 

As Franky listened, she imagined a five year old Bridget, blonde pigtails peeking out from behind a pink beanie as she ran about – like in pictures she had seen of Bridget in the snow when she was younger.

Bridget took another sip of wine and paused, Franky sat quietly next to her. Expectant but not pushy, attentive but not overpowering. She was just there for Bridget.

Bridget continued “One of the things we used to love doing was to go exploring – collecting leaves, bark, sticks, whatever took my fancy. During the winter months when the small creek filled with water, I used to love collecting tadpoles and keeping them until they turned into frogs and we would then put them back in the creek”.

Bridget could still remember the bright pink gumboots with white stars –which matched her rain jacket that her aunt had bought her for her birthday. As she took a breath, she could see her younger self, water rushing past her gumboots as she stood up to her ankles, leaning into the creek with her homemade net made out of stockings and a coat hanger. That memory in itself could have been and should have been a heart warming one for Bridget, but any memory with her aunt was now marred with the events that were to come that winter. 

“Then my aunt got sick” Bridget added, her voice shifting slightly and becoming more detached. “I can’t remember exactly when or what happened… but she had breast cancer. I didn’t go up there for a number of months, except I think with my mum a few times. After she went into remission, I started going back up there, just for the day. But that is when it all started”.

Bridget looked at Franky, who was listening intently and with a face that was etched with worry about the story that was to come, but she also wore a face that told Bridget she could continue, it would be safe for her, that if she faltered, Franky would be there.

“One afternoon, I had been planning on going to catch tadpoles with Carrie, but she wasn’t well. Whilst she was in remission, her health was never really the same and I can remember her often being sick from one thing or another. Her partner Dave offered to take me to catch tadpoles and suggested that I could show him how good I was at finding them. So I went off with him, leaving Carrie back at the house to rest.”

Franky felt sick to the stomach in anticipation of what was to come. She sat silently listening to Bridget, letting her tell her story but she could tell by the tone of Bridget’s voice when she spoke of this guy that it was him. That he had abused Bridget. 

“I remember the day it all started … when I was leaning over to catch the tadpoles from the creek and he was holding me from behind so I didn’t fall in the creek”. Bridget paused. 

“and I could feel something hard pressing into my back. I had no idea what it was at the time, only I remember a distinct feeling of uneasiness and panic come over me... I tried to move away and move forward but he held me back against him”, Bridget swallowed and steadied her voice.

“Nothing else happened on that day, but for me … it was everything. I remember that day almost more clearly than any of the others”. Bridget remarked, her voice now laced with sadness.

“I told him I wanted to go back to the house and he tried to convince me to stay…. but I think I made up some story about feeling sick.. I can’t remember. As we walked back up the hill to the house, Dave told me that he and Carried loved having me to play at their place and that Carrie really wanted me to come over and loved seeing me, but because she was sometimes sick, Carrie would be sad if I didn’t go exploring with him”.

Bridget paused, “he was a master Franky….. he knew how much I worshipped and adored my aunt and how much I loved spending time up at the farm” Bridget explained as sadness had begun to engulf her voice.

Franky gave a knowing nod. The kind of level of understanding that could only come from someone with Franky’s childhood.

As silent tears started to fall, Franky reached out to wipe Bridget’s cheeks with a gentle thumb. She could see the little hollow at the base of Bridget’s neck, quivering. 

It reminded her of a poem she had read once read…. “what was it called again.. that little spot? ” she wondered to herself. It was then that the words came to her, “lacus lacrimae” or “lake of tears” – so called because that is where the tears pooled. Franky took a sharp breath in; “there couldn’t be a more fitting description” she thought silently.

Bridget , determined to continue, brushed more tears away and Franky saw her purse her lips and then press her tongue to the roof of her mouth in an effort to halt the tears – something that Franky knew only too well about. “Fuck”, Franky thought to herself as she sat in silent support while Bridget sniffed the last of her tears away and continued. 

“…So the six year old Bridget that I was….. was so desperate to please… I worshipped my aunt. So I didn’t say anything. The abuse continued… it started with just touching – him touching me, him making me touch him but by the time I was about nine, he had raped me repeatedly.”

Bridget’s voice, full of hurt and vulnerability made Franky’s heart almost break. She felt a hatred for this man like no other.

“….And I was a smart kid Franky", Bridget said slowly through the tears that had started to fall again. “I didn’t let anyone bully me in primary school, stuck up for those who were bullied. Played sport, had heaps of friends…. but his grooming of me was so thorough, so sophisticated and so manipulative … that I …” her voice trailed off again and she looked down.

“Gidge.. Gidget.. you don’t have to explain any of that shit to me” Franky responded. “You were a kid…” Franky said looking Bridget in eyes, waiting for Bridget to look up. “Did you ever tell anyone?”, she asked gently.

Bridget shook her head. “Over time, my aunt got sick again so there were times when and I didn’t go up there. I thought it would stop then, but when I went back, it would start again. Whenever he was able to get me on my own somewhere – whether it was on the farm, a drive to pick up something from the shop”.

“My mum was always very big on telling the truth’’, Bridget sniffed “ – and not changing your story. Whenever she came to pick me up, she would always ask the same thing “How was your day?” and “I bet you had fun?”, expectantly awaiting my answer. My aunt, would always look on lovingly as I recounted my day to my mum, often with Dave watching on, playing along with my charade.”

“A few times in the car on the way home, I was so close to telling my mum..” Bridget’s voice broke again.”… but being the little kid who wanted to please, I didn’t want to change my story, I didn’t want her to think I was a liar. I had just told her I had a great day. So I never told her”

“Fuck Gidget, I am so sorry” Franky interjected and squeezed Bridget’s hands tightly. “When did it stop?”, Franky asked. 

“The last time was when I was about nine. My aunt was pretty sick again, she had been undergoing chemotherapy but was having a break. By that stage I had hadn’t been to their house for a while. But I went up there for some reason or another.. I can’t remember. But that was the last time….”.

“So, did you tell someone then?” Franky asked. Then immediately worried that she was asking too many questions.

“Carrie died of breast cancer just before my tenth birthday”. My mum was devastated. But for me it was such a double-edged sword. Along with the sadness of her death came an indescribable feeling of relief. My mum couldn’t work out why I coped the way I did with her death, assuming that I wasn’t dealing with it, or that I didn’t understand it. But the reality was, for me her death meant the end of my abuse – at least the end of the act of abuse, the impact that it had on me continued to play out in my head many years after.

“So, you’ve never told your parents?” Franky gently pressed

“Not until I was much older. I felt like I couldn’t. My mum used to reminisce and tell everyone stories of how close I was to Carrie and how she was like a second mother to me. She used to wonder why I never liked discussing memories or why I would shift uncomfortably when she would recount stories to her friends. I could see them exchange glances of pity, of not so quiet whispers.. .again assuming my reaction was due to Carrie’s death”.

Franky sat, looking at Bridget. She glanced over at Bridget’s near empty glass and topped it up with the bottle that was sitting on the table. She didn’t know what to do next, so she quietly asked Bridget “You feel like anything to eat?”. 

“No… not really” came a response from Bridget. Her voice was strained, dull. “..But I should eat something, I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch”, she added. Her hand moving to the knot that was forming at the base of her neck as she rubbed it momentarily. “Trademark stressed Bridget”, thought Franky.

As Franky got up to get their antipasto plate, she felt a bit numb. She had so many questions she wanted to ask Bridget, but she knew, or at least thought she knew that the last thing Bridget probably wanted was questions. She felt more at ease talking to Bridget when she could do just that – talk. 

Bridget knew it must have been hard for Franky to hear, just as it had been hard for her to hear some of the horrific stories Franky had told her about her childhood and life at Wentworth, only Bridget was trained to hear shit like this. 

Feeling overwhelmed, she was suddenly conscious that Franky would never have seen her this way and momentarily worried. But as Franky walked towards the couch, carrying the plate, her worry dissipated as she was met with eyes of such strength and love.

She felt a release in telling Franky. She had not talked about her abuse for a number of years and only her very very close friends knew of it. But it somehow made her feel closer to Franky. She had let go.

Franky put the plate down on the table next to the wine and reached over to the other edge of the couch and threw a large throw cushion on the ground in front of her. Franky sat down on the couch… “Gidge”, she said “Why don’t you let me have a go at that knot?” as Franky gestured towards the cushion.

Bridget, looking weary, gazed back at Franky and was reminded just how much she loved this woman, as she smiled and climbed down onto the ground silently.

As Franky’s hands touched her shoulders, lightly at first, moving her hair away, Bridget took a deep breath.. and then another one. Franky heard Bridget release the air through her breath, air that had no doubt been held deep at the bottom of her lungs all afternoon.

Bridget was relieved in one sense; that it had all been about her. Yet devastated at the same time that Franky had found out the way she did from someone whom Bridget utterly despised. Whilst Bridget had undergone extensive counseling during her teenage years when her abuse had come out – which she later knew through her studies was trauma focused cognitive behavioral therapy; it was still never any easier to talk about it. 

Whenever she spoke of it, which wasn’t often, there was still a little part of her that was there, standing by that river in her pink gumboots with the white stars on the day that changed her childhood forever. It was the loss that made her most sad she thought. Before she knew it, a tear had escaped from her eye, and another.

As Franky massaged Bridget’s shoulders, her thoughts drifted, she leaned forward and touched the side of her head to Bridget’s. “Gidget, thankyou for telling me”, she paused “I know it can’t have been easy”. 

Bridget didn’t respond, but lent her head into Franky’s. Her tears did not have far to travel before they were caught by the strands of Franky’s hair that were pressed against Bridget’s face. 

As Bridget felt Franky’s hands on her back and the warmth of her breath, Bridget’s tears continued to fall. Silently. Tears of release. Franky knew they were tears that needed to fall. There were no words spoken between them as she continued to work at Bridget’s neck, slowing every so often to plant a gentle kiss at the base of her neck. Franky understood, completely, utterly and entirely.


	3. The Star

Bridget had fallen asleep on the couch, lying on her side, her head on Franky’s lap. Franky looked down at Bridget’s face, the delicate skin of her cheekbones, a pale shade of pink from the saltiness of Bridget’s tears. 

After Franky had finished massaging Bridget’s neck, Bridget had just wanted to lie with Franky and listen to music. At what point Bridget had drifted off to sleep, Franky didn’t know. As she now glanced down at Bridget’s body, knees curled up to her chest and one of her hands tucked in behind her calf and her thigh, Franky thought she looked smaller than usual, a little like a fallen angel or a star who had lost her way. 

She was Franky’s star – who had shone and burned so brightly for Franky when she needed it the most. Franky couldn’t deny it, it was difficult to hear the story that Bridget had told her, at some points Franky had struggled not to cry. It was difficult for her to see Bridget so upset, so raw and stripped back. A side of Bridget that she had not only never seen, but had never imagined. 

She was thankful that her relationship with Bridget was so strong that Bridget did not have to feel guarded with her. She, no doubt, on one level would have struggled with Franky being exposed to her inner turmoil Franky thought, but she had trusted Franky with her deepest and most devastating secret.

Franky leaned her head back as she studied the different shades of light the lamp threw onto the ceiling whilst Bridget continued to sleep. Never in a million years, when she got up this morning did she imagine her day would finish like this. She knew how significant the everlasting impact of events of a childhood could be. She thought back now to the many, many times that she had resisted talking, snapped back, avoided, deflected and then finally bared her soul to Bridget. There were times when she had cried for what felt like hours.

Franky was suddenly wracked with guilt. Had Bridget felt that she couldn’t tell Franky??… Had Franky never asked the right questions??. “Fuck” thought Franky. “. As she thought back, their relationship had been somewhat characterized by Franky needing to lean on Bridget – which now, though was less and less. 

Franky was suddenly overpowered by this desire to protect Bridget, she couldn’t quite put her finger on what the feeling was, but it was almost primal, instinctual. As she looked down at her sleeping Bridget, she just wanted to bundle her up and cocoon her away. To take the six year old Bridget with pigtails and pink gumboots and protect her, but it was too late for that. To now protect Bridget from having to relive her abuse, from Ferguson intruding on Bridget’s darkest memories. She had never felt like this before, never felt so protective of somebody.

Then Franky realized. It washed over her like a gentle wave, radiating from the inside out. It was because she was in love with Bridget. She loved Bridget so deeply and so profoundly that she would do anything for her, she wouldn’t or couldn’t put anyone or anything above her. Bridget was her person.  
Franky reached for her phone that was sitting on the arm of the couch, carefully so as not to disturb Bridget. She didn’t know for how long she had been sitting in silence after the music had finished. She looked at the time – 11.34. She knew that Bridget hated sleeping on the couch, so she would wake her sleeping angel in a minute.

She went into her work calendar and checked what she thought she had remembered correctly – she had set aside tomorrow to do research on a new matter that had been referred to Legal Relief that one of the senior solicitors was managing. She had no other meetings in her diary and no other clients that she was sitting in on.

She then flicked to the calendar that she and Bridget shared. She wasn’t able to see the specifics of Bridget’s day – but knew which days she was at Wentworth, which days she worked in private practice and any other activities like yoga, staff meetings or out of hours meetings that Bridget had scheduled in. She saw that Bridget was at Wentworth tomorrow, but she wasn’t able to see anything beyond that or what her day held.

Franky thought for a minute as her middle finger tapped the side of her phone. She flicked into her work email and started to write an email to the solicitor for whom she was doing research asking if she could work from home tomorrow – she was able to remote in to the Legal Relief system to access the system and she could just as easily do the same research from home. 

Franky didn’t know what kind of state Bridget would be in the morning – and if, in fact, Bridget was able to stay home. Then even if she was, there would be the task of convincing Bridget not to go into work.

No sooner had she written the email, a reply flashed up on her screen. She opened the email and was met with the response 

“No dramas at all see you Wed”.

Franky carefully laid her palm on Bridget’s shoulder – not that Bridget’s startle reflex was anywhere as active as Franky’s – but she herself hated being woken as it often triggered the flight or flight response in her – a hangup from her time in Wentworth that she still hadn’t managed to shake.

Franky’s touch made no difference to Bridget’s state of sleep. Franky continued to watch Bridget’s slender side rise and fall as she breathed in and out.  
“Gidge”, Franky softly whispered. Bridget stirred slightly but still slept. 

“Gidge” Franky said again, this time a little louder. Bridget’s eyes opened and darted around as she took stock of where she was. 

“Mmmmm”, was all Bridget could muster in response as she shut her eyes again momentarily.

“Gidge, we better get to bed” Franky said. Bridget rolled in Franky’s direction so that she was now lying on her back as she looked up at Franky. Bridget looked utterly exhausted and aside from the red of her tear stained cheeks, the pallor of her face gave away her tiredness. “What time is it?”, Bridget asked croakily, clearing her throat part way through.

“It’s nearly 12 Gidge…. you fell asleep..” Franky said gently. Bridget sat up and paused and pushed the hair back off her face, feeling at the back of her head for her hair tie before noticing it on the coffee table in front of her.

Franky got up and rinsed the red telltale sign of Bridget’s red wine from the bottom of her glass before stacking it in the dishwasher and starting it. Bridget started to make her way off the couch and towards the kitchen, gravitating to where Franky was.

Franky turned to Bridget “What have you got on tomorrow?”. 

“Umm. Tuesday. I’m at Wentworth all day tomorrow". Bridget responded

“Do you have to go?” Franky asked. 

“What do you mean darling, yes I have to go.. its my job”, Bridget replied.

“Nah, what I’m asking is… like do you have stuff on, can you stay home tomorrow instead?” Franky asked.

Bridget rubbed her eyes. Franky was sure she had a headache from the way she could see Bridget struggling to think of her day tomorrow, the way her gaze was slightly unfocused. She just had that look about her and Franky knew that look.

“Ummm Tuesday…” Bridget said as she stretched her shoulders back a little. “I’ve got group in the morning with the women.. and then in the afternoon….. I think maybe one appointment…but other than that I had set aside time to finish referencing for that journal article that’s due”. Bridget’s words sounded disjointed, like she had pulled each of them from the corners of her mind in an attempt to make a coherent sentence. 

“So you can stay home then?” Franky said. 

“I’ve got the women in the morning Franky… you remember those group sessions”. Bridget responded.

“Gidge, you can give the group session a miss” Franky interjected. Bridget remained silent. 

“Look, its not like I wanna tell you what to do, but Gidge, I think you just need to take a day”. Franky reached out and touched Bridget’s hand and held her index fingers in hers.

Neither of them had mentioned Bridget’s story or tears, but Franky wasn’t intending upon letting their silence about the night just pass by them. She needed Bridget to know that she could handle what she had told her, that she would be there for Bridget. It wasn’t something that she was just going to let slide or brush under the carpet. After all, Bridget would never have let that happen to Franky.

“Gidge, the stuff that you told me… it was big, heartbreaking, devastating for you – I can see that and I think you know it too”. Bridget nodded, silently as Franky continued 

“Look, that prison isn’t going to stop running if you take a day off.. you need it Gidge”.

Bridget didn’t respond and instead scratched the back of her head. It was almost as if Bridget couldn’t think, couldn’t decide, couldn’t see beyond the moment; Franky thought. She knew from just looking at Bridget that she was so fragile. Like a deer in headlights, she stood in the kitchen. Franky knew the feeling well, when everything just seemed too hard.

“Why don’t you just send Vera an email – get one of the admins to reschedule your appointment and catch up on group session the following week, as much as I’m sure the girls will miss you – they’ll understand”.

“Vera”.. thought Bridget as her mind drifted. If Bridget called in sick, Vera would no doubt be beside herself given how concerned she was following Franky’s session with Ferguson, thought Bridget.

“Look, its not that easy Franky. Vera already suspected something big had happened with you and Ferguson today and if I don’t go in she will no doubt link the two together” Bridget responded, sounding defeated.

Bridget had always wondered if Vera had picked up on what Ferugson had said to her that afternoon during their failed attempt to entrap Ferugson. Vera had never said anything to her – like Bridget had never asked Vera about ending her mother’s life. 

“Thank you for not telling her” Bridget added softly as her eyes again started to well with tears. 

“Oh Gidget”, Franky said as she took Bridget in her arms.

“OK” said Franky. “This is what we are going to do. You’re going to send Vera a text now – on her private phone not the work one - and just tell her you aren’t coming in tomorrow….. just say that you and I are ok but that you just need to take a day and you will fill her in later. Then we can work out what you are going to tell her”.

“OK”, Bridget responded. Franky was right, she thought. She felt so on the edge, so raw, just exhausted that she probably wouldn’t be any good to the women tomorrow anyway. And she did, she just needed a day. A day to breathe, a day to collect herself, a day to process. She stood in the kitchen and sent the message to Vera, whilst Franky finished wiping the benches and then Bridget started to make her way to the bedroom.

As Franky collected her laptop from the edge of the kitchen counter where she had left left it, she flicked off the lights and stood for a moment in the darkness as she heard Bridget’s footsteps head towards the bedroom. She let out a staggered breath. She was ok she thought, she could do this, she somewhat surprised herself. No one had ever really relied on her before. It felt kinda nice, she thought.

For Franky, it was also the closing of a chapter in their relationship. She had probably considered Bridget invincible – which, upon reflection was unrealistic. But at times that is how Franky had felt, when she had bombarded Bridget with her past, her tears, when they argued about ridiculous things, when Franky felt she was almost going to lose her way; Bridget was always there. Every time. Without fail. Loving and supporting Franky unconditionally, without expectation.

She followed Bridget up the hallway pausing to plug in her lap top to charge overnight. Bridget called out from the bedroom “What are you doing baby?”.

Franky couldn’t do anything without Bridget realizing she laughed to herself “Just pluggin’ in ma lap top Gidge… I’ll be there in a second”. 

Bridget stood in the doorway of the bedroom, as she removed what little make up remained on her face. “Oh OK”. Bridget said looking a little puzzled.

As Franky met her at the doorway she put her hands around Bridget’s slender waist. “I’m working from home tomorrow Gidge”.

“What??” Bridget said… “Wh wh when did you decide to do that?”. 

“Ohh ..you know… when you were sleeping”. Franky replied playfully.

Bridget looked at Franky, head on the side and completely disheveled. So Franky had already arranged to stay home before she had even raised it with her, Bridget realized. Before she could respond Franky added “I want to be here for you Gidge”, as she cupped Bridget’s chin in her hands. Bridget’s face softened as her mouth dissolved against Franky’s.

“I just want to spend the day with you tomorrow. We don’t have to do anything. Just be with each other” Franky added.

“Thank you”, Bridget murmured. “That is all I want too”.

Bridget slipped into a cami and Franky into a singlet as they climbed into bed together and Franky turned off the light. As she lay there still, an immediate sense of exhaustion came over her. From the minute she had left Wentworth this afternoon, she felt like her mind had been in overdrive but now was the first time that she had actually stopped. She was glad that Bridget couldn’t yet make out her face in the dark.

As they lay together facing each other, while their eyes adjusted to the lights,  
Bridget reached for Franky’s hand, “Bet you’re thinking you didn’t sign up for this did you?”. 

Franky’s heart ached for Bridget as she took her hand in hers. “Baby, I signed up to be with you. And Fuck, if we want to talk about signing up for things, think about all the shit that you knew you were getting yourself into with me” Franky responded, looking at Bridget, as she made her face out in the darkness, to which their eyes had adjusted.

“I’m struggling with you seeing me like this” Bridget said flatly as she let out a breath, averting her gaze. She felt completely stripped bare, yet relieved to be saying those words to Franky.

“I know, I know” Franky responded softly. As she gently lifted Bridget’s chin so their eyes met. “I know you are. But …. Gidge … its ok” Franky said reassuringly. 

“You are one of the strongest, most loyal people I have ever met. You believed in me, fought for me – so hard Gidge”, Franky’s voice started to waiver “and at times…stronger than I was able to fight for myself”. 

“I’m here… not going anywhere Gidge, OK?”. 

Bridget nodded silently as she moved closer to Franky to kiss her. Franky shuffled a little towards the centre of the bed so that Bridget could then lie on her chest. As Bridget lay her head softly on Franky’s chest, both women could feel the unmistakable connection between them as they each heard the other breathe and could feel the slow rise and fall of each others’ chest. 

“Good night Gidge”, Franky said as she kissed the top of Bridget’s head. “Goodnight my darling” Bridget responded. Franky closed her eyes. There was nowhere that she would rather be she thought, than lying in their bed, Bridget’s face against her chest, her right hand intertwined with Bridget’s left as she drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
